“Shoot us and dig the grave; otherwise we’re staying.” These poignant words were spoken by a Ukrainian babushka in defense of her decision to return to her neighborhood inside the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone.

Last year I became fascinated with writer Holly Morris’ article and subsequent TED talk about the babushkas of Chernobyl. She reported on the lives of these elderly women who, in defiance of the law, returned to live on their ancestral land where the worst nuclear disaster in history had recently taken place.

Branded as “self-settlers,” they are people who had worked the land for generations, and as such, it had come to define them. The bond they shared with their home and community proved stronger than the threat of radiation poisoning.

Most intriguing was the notion that the power of the motherland, a concept that is mostly lost on modern-day Americans, may have increased their longevity. As Morris noted in her research, some self-settlers had outlived their neighbors who had been evacuated to unfamiliar, urbanized territory where they languished from depression.

Recently I attended a Dallas Morning News Voices workshop where the participants were given just three minutes to list attributes they look for when choosing a neighborhood. A wide variety of preferences emerged from this cross-section of Dallas and its suburbs. As we discussed each one, it struck me how diverse, even deeply personal, each was. Truly, they were reflections of individuals of varying ages, seasons of life and backgrounds.

In some cases, a quality mentioned by one participant was completely opposite that of another. For example: I jotted down my desire for driveways in the back of houses, so that sidewalks will be clear of traffic. The person next to me wrote the exact opposite: that she preferred driveways to be in the front of houses, reasoning that it was more conducive to neighborly interaction.

A top priority for some was completely off the radar for others. However, a few similar characteristics emerged: safety and privacy were commonly shared concerns. We want diversity in our neighborhoods, but we also want to live among like-minded people.

How passionately we defended our preferences. How greatly our life experiences and personal history, as well as the life story we are all composing daily, affect our search for a place to put down roots.

I think this is what makes choosing a neighborhood such an intimate decision. Like most big investments and major life choices, buying a home involves careful research, number crunching and consideration of concrete facts like school district ratings and crime rates. But it also relies heavily on intangible factors such as emotions and instincts.

That being the case, how does one go about searching for these instinctual inclinations? How do you measure that which cannot be measured? Is it the bones of a house? Its layout on the property? The infrastructure of the neighborhood? Its proximity to the organic, free-trade, vegan store? Yes. But there are also fair amounts of gut instinct involved — how the place makes you feel. Its vibe, if you will.

Now a neighborhood can certainly contain an innate vibe. But I firmly believe that it’s also up to you to create your own. You must work the land. Literally: by planting gardens and hanging up your family pictures. Figuratively: by conversing with your neighbors and getting involved with local causes. The more you do, the more your land becomes authentically yours.

What makes a neighborhood great? The people who live there and the efforts and pride they invest in it. If you want to live in a great neighborhood, do what the babushkas and their ancestors did: cleave to your motherland.

Suzie Whitman of Highland Village is an accounting assistant and a Community Voices volunteer columnist. Her email address is zuzy23 @yahoo.com.